


Nightmare

by sheron



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Amnesia, Angst and Feels, Character Death In Dream, Drama, Fix-It, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Endgame, Romance, Sort Of, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-01 22:35:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20265601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheron/pseuds/sheron
Summary: Steve wakes up after a terrible dream where Tony died wielding the Infinity Stones.Tony is there, in bed with him.





	Nightmare

Steve drifted. The heavy down comforter covered him where he lay in a uniquely comfortable bed, and the idea of opening his eyes to face another day felt daunting. He recognized his head pounding with a headache, but Steve was good at setting things like that aside. That pain became almost abstract. Even so, he could only linger in this state between wakefulness and a dream for a little while; life carried on.

Tony had told him to get a life plenty of times. He'd said it as a stinging insult during some of their earlier arguments — "You need a life, Rogers!" — and he'd said it seriously, once, after they'd had that conversation about retiring to a farm, to try to find the kind of peace Clint had found. Tony had looked at Steve and said, "Try living a little," and he'd smiled somewhat sadly, and never brought it up again as long as he lived.

The memory of it stung Steve's heart, so when the funeral was over, he had already mostly decided. He was going to see Peggy and find out if she'd have him. He was tired. He'd lost too much, maybe, and the image of the future without Nat, without Tony who'd brought hope into his life, was a miserable one.

And as he came awake, still his heart felt leaden while he slowly blinked his eyes open, staring at the ceiling. His comforter really was quite heavy.

His comforter raised a tousled dark-haired head and said, with a half-yawn, "You awake?"

Everything about the world lurched and paused for a heart-stopping moment. Steve stared into the lively brown eyes of Tony Stark.

"Steve?" 

Tony was lying on top of the comforter covering Steve in bed, his head raised to look at him with growing concern. Steve pressed back into the mattress, stuck between the horrifying need to throw himself out of bed and find a defensive corner position, and the equally powerful desire to wrap both arms around Tony and clutch him to his heart. The heart that thundered painfully in his chest, now. His limbs felt weak as if he were a newborn kitten.

"You look like you've seen a ghost." 

Tony moved. In reality, it probably took only a moment, but with the mad thrumming of his heart in his ears, Steve felt like Tony's hand moved in a slow motion, settling on his cheek — _warm!_ — fingers stroking his skin. Steve gasped and flinched at the contact, making Tony frown. 

"Bad dream?" he asked, looking for all the world as if he _expected_ to be waking up together. 

His hand on Steve's cheek felt real. As real as anything he'd ever experienced, and suddenly it wasn't a conscious decision at all.

"Tony?" Steve managed to gasp past the terrible knot in his throat, past the stinging in his blurring eyes. His arms came up to wrap around the other man, solid and whole — _alive!_ — and Steve clutched him to himself. If he was losing his goddamn mind and this was a dream, at least it was a good one. 

"Whoa," Tony said at a breath against his ear, sinking into the embrace with boneless grace. Something excited thrilled in his voice, but worry intruded, too. "Steve..."

"You're here." Steve squeezed his eyes shut, butting his head into the crook of Tony's neck, shakily breathing in his scent. Tony's silky hair against his nose was the softest, most comforting sensation imaginable to bury himself in. It felt so real. Steve didn't know what to think. The last thing he remembered were vague snatches of a conversation with Sam. He was going back in time to Peggy, though Sam didn't know that yet. Bucky was saying his goodbye. Tony was dead. Yet, undeniably, Steve was holding him in his arms right now.

Steve took one more shaky breath, and set his hands on Tony's shoulders, disengaging and pulling back. Tony made a noise — a sort of dissatisfied, wordless rebuke — but let Steve put some distance between their faces. Full of worry, Tony's eyes gazed at him, somber. Steve was incredibly aware that Tony was still half-lying on top of him, and the leg he'd thrown over one of Steve's lay warmly between his. It was an agonizingly good feeling. "I'm going crazy," he muttered. "What is this?" And then he had to brush a hand under his eyes, where tears were beginning their trek down his cheeks.

Tony's expression changed from concern to a stricken mix of pain and anxiety at this. He said, "Are you okay? Your head? Hurts bad?" He brushed the side of Steve's forehead, where Steve suddenly realized he had a bandage covering his temple.

"How are you here?" Steve clutched Tony's shoulder with one hand. Tony _felt_ real. This was undeniable. It couldn't be a hallucination. Unless Steve was still asleep? Drugged? Someone messing with him? But it didn't feel like a dream. Tony's mannerisms, his expressions, every hair-strand on his head and every dark eyelash were exactly as Steve remembered him.

Tony looked utterly confused. "How am I—You know what, I'm getting that doctor. This is the second time you—Hey!" Tony had moved to rise and do as promised, but Steve wouldn't let him. His hand hung on to Tony's shoulder keeping him firmly nearby, on the bed.

"Don't go!" No doubt Tony could hear the fear in his voice, but Steve needed him here. If Tony left the room, Steve thought he would wake up from this dream. He _badly_ didn't want to wake up. "Just tell me. Please tell me," he said, feeling himself start to shake a little.

"Steve," Tony put a hand over Steve's palm on his shoulder, squeezing warmly. "You're at home. You're safe. You took a real hard knock to the head." Tony frowned. "Much worse than we realized. You woke up a few hours ago, very confused, but it seemed like you figured out what's what eventually. Now you're _back_ to confused. They said it might happen while you heal, but—"

"I—I—" Steve grasped for words. "I watched you die."

Tony looked startlingly blank. "You dreamt I died?"

"I—" Steve put a hand to his head, which suddenly ached harder from all the disorienting information he was processing: Tony in a black Led Zeppelin t-shirt next to him, this whole quiet place. His eyes roamed the bedroom, lit up softly with the afternoon light. He should have felt awkward, waking up in a strange bed, but a conversation was happening in his body on some subconscious level, and each object his eyes landed on spoke in a familiar tongue. The fur rug at the foot of the bed, the slightly crooked black-and-white photo of the Manhattan skyline hanging on the wall, the way the mattress molded itself against his spine as if designed for him. Outside, he could recognize the familiar grounds and the clear water of the lake; this looked like Tony's lake house. The last time he'd been here, Pepper was clutching Morgan's hand as they all watched the recording. 

"I don't know. I— Is Pepper here? Where is Morgan?" 

"What are you talking about?" Tony looked baffled. "Who's Morgan?"

Steve fell silent at that.

"Pepper's eccentric uncle? Why the hell would he be in our home? Steve. You're worrying me here."

"I—" Steve was reduced to syllables. His voice was a shadow and he kept having to gulp for air because his lungs seemed to be refusing to work properly. He strove to compose himself, but it was an illusory goal. All he could think of was the ache in his heart when he'd _known_ a few minutes earlier that Tony was gone forever with the same certainty he knew Tony was here with him. "I'm very confused. I thought... The fight— And—And the gauntlet. I—" Fresh tears spilled down his cheeks. With a deep sigh, Tony moved forward and put his arms around him, hugging him tight. 

"Shhh," he whispered into Steve's hair, kissing his brow. For some reason this made Steve cry harder, curling himself against Tony's chest. It was warm there. "I'm here," Tony repeated, while Steve tried to hold back pathetic sounds. "It's okay. You're okay. Mostly. You seem to have a bit of a memory skip there. But you're safe, honey."

_Honey._

In all their times together, the sweetest thing that Tony ever called him was the flat nickname of Cap. Or maybe Mr. Rogers, in that playful tone of his — but that was all. Tony had never hugged him, never touched him with the kind of intimacy with which he was stroking Steve's hair now. He'd never lowered his face and pressed a soft kiss against Steve's mouth like that, murmuring, "Promise."

Steve jerked as if electrocuted at the touch of Tony's mouth. Tony felt his flinch, started to pull back but no— If this _was_ a dream, or reality, Steve was never letting another moment pass him by. He was always too late, always missing his chance, especially with this man. Not anymore. Steve chased after Tony's mouth, flung himself at him, and then they kissed. Tony sighed soft acceptance against his lips, the tender embrace he had around Steve growing tighter. It was paradise. Steve had a stray thought that maybe he was down for the count. Maybe he'd died, and this was his reward. It wasn't a bad trade. He shut his eyes and gave himself over to the kiss, not questioning anything for a moment, just existing.

"Still, though—" Tony mumbled against his mouth, kissing him and trying to talk at the same time. He'd thrown his leg over Steve's and was now basically in Steve's lap, sitting on top of the covers. "You dreamt I died?" Tony sounded curious, nibbling on the corner of Steve's mouth. His hands slid under the thin t-shirt Steve wore, stroking his back with soothing circles.

"You wielded the gauntlet," Steve whispered, refusing to open his eyes. What if he did, and Tony vanished? Steve didn't think he could survive the heartbreak, just then. It was a lie; he already knew he could get through anything, but he wanted to exist in this world, the fantasy, just a little longer. "Against Thanos."

"Yeah, and?" Tony stroked his hair. "Didn't it work?"

Steve's laugh might have been a sob. "You saved us. But it was too much. You—." He couldn't. Just thinking of it, of Tony in that state, brought excruciating pain. His right arm had been charred. Steve couldn't do this, his mind shied and skittered away from the memory. He opened his eyes and drank in the sight of this very alive, very worried-looking man straddling his lap.

"I used it _alone_?" Tony asked, wide-eyed. "The rest of you didn't jump in?"

"What do you mean?"

"Like...You don't remember." Tony sighed. "You and the others? We all kind of used the stones together? I can't imagine what that kind of power would—" He stopped and studied Steve's face. "Ah."

"You died," Steve pressed past his lips just looking at him, unable to quite get his fill of the lines of Tony's face, his hair standing this way and that, no longer artfully tousled but just a mess, his dark eyes that Steve had never hoped to see lit up by the light of that bright intellect again. "We buried you. We _mourned_ you—" A new harsh sob tore out of his throat, his chest aching the way it had that day at the lake; the funeral. He couldn't remember how he'd made it from the house to where he could be alone. He didn't remember a whole lot about the rest of that day, really. It made it easier to believe that maybe—

"That wasn't real," Tony entreated, stroking his hair in a very distracting manner. Steve wanted to believe him so badly. "You hit your head in the fight with Mysterio last night. Nearly cracked your skull open, dumbass." He punctuated the last with a kiss on the top of Steve's nose. The fountain of affection that seemed to be pouring off Tony in every touch, and every glance, even his voice, was melting the hard ice that had formed around Steve's heart. Those eyes would not betray him.

"You're saying...all that was a dream?" Steve asked. "_All_ of it?"

"We did defeat Thanos; you were there." Tony frowned. His fingers brushed the bandages on Steve's head. He glanced towards the bedroom door, reluctance on his face. "I really should at least get someone—"

"Please stay," Steve held on tight around Tony's waist. "I need you to stay. Right here. Explain this to me. How are you... Why am I _here_?"

"At the lake house?"

"Yeah, Tony. You lived here with Pepper."

Tony stared. "Steve, you're gonna need to get specific about the crazy things you've dreamt up."

Steve started talking, with some difficulty. His tongue felt heavy, and he had to blink to clear his vision, struggling to remain sitting upright. He told Tony about the Snap.

"—yeah, so that part you remember—"

He explained about the five years that followed.

"Five years?" Tony's eyebrows climbed up to his hairline. "What the hell did I _do_ without you for five years?"

"You raised a daughter," Steve said simply. "Morgan Stark."

"Fuck." His eyes were like dinner plates. "I had a kid in your dream? With— With _Pepper_?"

"Yeah," Steve said. "You, uh, you married her and— And then we talked— We convinced you to give all that up and—."

"Babe, remember to breathe," Tony entreated him, his hand a warm weight at his neck, massaging in circles. "Nice and slow, okay. You're safe. I'm here."

"—come save the world," Steve gasped out, and then he really had to stop and just breathe in and out for a while. It felt like asthma, this panic that squeezed his chest like a vice. "That's what you did."

"God, that's messed up," Tony pronounced, staring off to the side at a wall as if it would yield answers. "You really scrambled your brain." He pulled Steve back against his chest. Steve didn't question why Tony was being so tender with him. It was clear that wherever he was, real or not, Tony and him had a very different relationship than the one he dreamt up.

"How did it—I mean, how is it here?" Steve asked quietly.

"You remember a lot of it," Tony said. "That's good. That means that you're healing. I certainly am not with Pepper, Jesus, what a thought. A kid," he paused. "I don't know. I've been with you, Steve. We've been living here together for the past, uh... three? Almost four years now."

"We have?" Steve mumbled against Tony's chest, just listening to the steady beat of his heart. How beautiful it was, that sound! "We never fought?"

"Oh, we did fight," Tony said, with a somewhat ugly edge in his tone. "Thanos, the Snap, all of that. I was an idiot. We were separated when he came, and we lost."

"I wasn't there when you needed me," Steve whispered, low.

Tony's hands stilled briefly and resumed their stroking. "That made it into your dream. Of course it did. You still feel guilty about it, huh?"

"It's true." He wanted to look into Tony's eyes even if they were angry at him once more. "You said... I lied to you."

Tony winced, tsking. "Not my finest hour." His eyes were the furthest from angry now. They were loving. Steve's hands trembled and Tony frowned. "You remember that we'd made up though?" he asked, looking very concerned about it.

"I don't know what I remember. I remember _burying_ you. I remember how it felt to carry you from the battlefield. But you're here," Steve's arms tightened their hold on Tony's waist, but only briefly. He didn't dare to hold him for too long, in case his hands would slip through and he'd discover Tony was only a mirage. But his arms, his arms felt as if they were made to hold Tony close, just like this. "We're together here. God, Nat— Natasha would have liked to see that."

Tony didn't respond for a moment. "Was she gone, too?"

It felt unreal, now. Steve nodded against Tony's chest.

"Damn, Steve. It's different! She's sure as hell alive! We _won_. Sounds to me like your mind tried to twist everything for maximum imaginable pain. I can't even—This is a seriously fucked up dream. I'm so sorry you thought that was real."

"So... Amnesia?" Steve wanted that. That other world felt further away now, slipping out of his memories the way dreams did when you began to wake up. Tony being here with him felt right on a fundamental level. That gave him courage.

"I guess?" Tony didn't pause the gentle stroking of the skin at the back of Steve's neck. Like scritches, the touch of his fingers soothed the raw edges of hurt. "You remember more than the last time you woke up, but it's jumbled. I think it's coming back, and your brain" — he waved a hand in the air— "extrapolated, filled in the gaps you didn't have with made up things of its own. Also, apparently? Your brain hates you."

A brief smile quirked Steve's lips and fled. His brain _hurt_. He was okay with the idea of all those other memories being a dream, if only everyone was okay, and Tony was alive. His eyes fell on the letters on Tony's Led Zeppelin shirt he'd noticed earlier — besides, you couldn't read within a dream.

"And we're together?" 

"You asked already." Tony gently tilted his chin up. "I love you," he said with confidence. "And you, Mister, are not getting rid of me so easily."

Steve laughed, a gasp of humour that had felt entirely foreign to him just a little bit ago. "I've loved you for so long," he confessed in a rush, and it was _easy_. Why hadn't he ever said the words before? Why had he waited even a moment, when this was how Tony looked upon hearing it.

Crow's feet showed in the corners of Tony's eyes, crinkling as he smiled. "I love you more."

"Is everything a competition with you, still?" Steve wondered, relaxing into the possibility that this moment could exist between them.

"You don't remember it, but you admit I'm the best kisser." Tony whispered the last against his mouth, before ducking in to prove it, kissing him soundly. Best or not, the kiss was amazing. Steve felt enveloped by it. The brush of Tony's lips against his own, his questing tongue in Steve's mouth. All of it was new and all of it felt as familiar and as comfortable as if they'd been kissing for years.

Steve thought, if Tony was to be believed, maybe they had been.

"If you don't let me get a doctor, sweetheart, you should rest a bit. Lie down, huh." He eased Steve back down to the pillows of the large king bed. It was true, he was exhausted and still weak. The pounding in his head had been there in the background, but at the reminder the pulsing pain crested in full force, and Steve groaned.

Tony kissed his bandage at the temple, feather light, and lay down on a pillow next to him, facing him. Their fingers lay entwined between them.

"I don't want to go back to sleep," Steve murmured, rubbing his cheek against the silky soft pillow. His eyes felt heavy, weighted down, but he fought it. "I don't want to wake up and find out this was all a dream."

"I promise you, it's real."

Steve didn't answer, forcing his eyes to stay open.

"Try to rest, okay. Tomorrow, you'll remember a little more yet. I'll stay with you. I'll be right here when you wake up."

Steve kept gazing at him, trying to memorize the expression in his kind brown eyes. 

"Do you trust me?" Tony asked, slightly breathless, the way he got when he put all his faith in Steve.

"I do."

Another lingering look passed between them, then Steve let his eyes drift shut.

**Fin.**

**Author's Note:**

> _"Wake up, Steve. Bad dream?" _   
_"That depends... What world am I waking up to?" _   
_"Ours." _
> 
> \- Infinity, Marvel 616 comics
> 
> The story was inspired by one of [my favourite moments](https://sheronwrites.tumblr.com/post/184713002634/wake-up-steve-bad-dream-that-dependswhat) from the comics.  
[Tumblr post is here](https://sheronwrites.tumblr.com/post/187042877559/nightmare-fandom-mcu-relationships-steve). Kudos, comments and reblogs are loved!


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